I was 27 years old with a new seminary degree and ready to take on the world. We had driven up from the bayou country of Louisiana to Greenville, Mississippi, to visit Emmanuel Baptist Church for a trial weekend. If we liked them and they liked us and if we all agreed God was “in this,” then I would become their new pastor.

I had pastored two small churches before, but this was my first “trial weekend.” Those are well named, incidentally, for they are trials for everyone concerned. That’s why I did what I did that Sunday morning.

I told three jokes at the sermon time.

During the worship service, someone introduced Margaret and our small boys and presented me. I walked to the pulpit, smiled at the expectant congregation, and opened my mouth to speak. Up until then, I had done fine.

First. “This is my first time to preach in Mississippi. I’m delighted to be here, and particularly glad to see you’re all wearing shoes.”

Okay, not a joke, but I meant it as one. They actually laughed, which was all I wanted. They knew I was teasing them about the reputation for backwardness Mississippi has.

Second. “Preaching here today–and you and I looking each other over–reminds me of the country preacher who was in the same situation I’m in today. He looked out at the congregation and said, ‘There is a powerful lot of wonderin’ goin’ on here today. You are wonderin’ if I can preach, and I am wonderin’ if you know good preachin’ when you hear it!'”

Again, it got some laughter. It’s not a knee-slapper, but a pleasant bit of humor. Up until now, I was okay. This was the time to move into the sermon. But I didn’t. I had another joke, the best one yet.

Third. “Flip Wilson (African-American comedian everyone was familiar with in 1967) was portraying a Black preacher in this same situation on his television program. You know how the congregation answers the preacher in their churches. He looked out at the people and said, ‘If I’s called to be pastor of this church, this church is going to WALK!’ The people called back, ‘Let ‘er walk, boy, let ‘er walk!'”

“The preacher said, ‘If I’s called to be pastor of this church, this church is going to RUN!’ They said, ‘Let ‘er run, boy, let ‘er run!'”

“The preacher said, ‘If I’s called to be pastor of this church, this church is going to FLY!’ They said, ‘Let ‘er fly, boy, let ‘er fly.'”

“The preacher said, ‘If this church is going to fly, it’s going to take money!’ They said, ‘Let ‘er walk, boy, let ‘er walk.'”

(Hope I don’t offend anyone by printing the joke in dialect, but that’s how he said it and it’s the only way to tell it. The teller has to raise his voice in the appropriate places to make it work, too.)

It is a funny story. They laughed, and finally I went into my sermon. Oddly, I have long ago forgotten what the sermon was about, but will never forget those three little jokes. The reason I remember is what happened afterward.

Monday morning, my family was having breakfast in the home of some church members and we were preparing to drive back to New Orleans. Lawrence Bryant, chairman of the church’s deacons as well as chair of the pastor search committee and the leading layman of the congregation, arrived at the home. “We have a little problem, preacher,” he said.

The problem was those jokes I had told. “I’ve heard from some of the congregation,” he said, “and they were put off by that bit of foolishness.” Then he turned to two passages in Paul’s epistles to Timothy in which he urged the young pastor to “avoid vain babblings.”

I had been rebuked, big time. And this by a man who scarcely knew me.

The next Sunday morning, the church voted on the motion to call me as their pastor. In a congregation that ran 140 on Sunday morning, around 30 voted against the motion. When Lawrence Bryant phoned to tell me, I turned him down. “That’s too many,” I said, “so I’ll just say ‘no.'” But he was a wise man and gave some good advice.

“Preacher,” he said, “I have to go to a service at the county jail this afternoon and I’ll be back home about 4 o’clock. Why don’t you think about it and pray, and then I’ll call you when I get back.” Fair enough.

I got up from the lunch table–we lived in a small apartment in the back of the church–and walked around to the little sanctuary. I closed the door and knelt at the altar and began praying. Within five minutes, I knew the Lord was leading us to Greenville. A few weeks later, we loaded a truck and made the transition. We stayed there for three years and two months and saw God do some phenomenal things. It was so obvious He had led us to that town and that church.

I almost sabotaged the matter by overdoing the humor.

Once I got to know the church, I found that my predecessors had been rather humorless individuals and the congregation had grown uptight and overly serious. Anyone who knows me will not be surprised to learn that we soon got them out of that! Before long, they were a happy, rejoicing bunch who found laughter coming easily to their hearts.

Some of our readers of this blog were members of that church during our tenure (November 1967-January 1970), and they’re welcome to add their own comments below.

I believe in humor. A verse I frequently use in talks to church groups is the statement from Sarah, the wife of Abraham, after she gave birth at the age of 90. She said, “God has made laughter for me.” (Genesis 21:6) I like to tell congregations, “The Lord has made laughter for you, too. And some of you are not getting your recommended daily allowance!”

Laughter is beneficial for more reasons than I can count. It helps the health, calms the spirit, changes the mood, eases the tension, defuses anger, and unites people in joy. There’s nothing wrong and everything right about joy and laughter. However.

Jokes and humor are not appropriate for every situation.

These days, I’m hard at work studying Paul’s Epistle to the Romans for two reasons. I’ll be teaching it in a couple of churches this winter, and I’m drawing a series of cartoons to illustrate some of its teaching points. In one cartoon, I have a guy saying that Romans would be a lot easier to understand if Paul had inserted some jokes. Most people will understand that that is tongue-in-cheek and refers to a) the difficulty of this book and b) how we like everything overly simplified.

A joke or even a humorous remark would be completely out of place in a serious work like Romans.

Knowing when to tell a funny story and when to squelch it is a sign of maturity.

Bible students will recall the story of Abraham’s nephew Lot who lived in the ancient city of Sodom. When God’s angelic messengers warned Lot of the coming destruction of that wicked city, Lot did the natural thing and began to alert his family members, begging them to leave the city with him. But some family members reacted strangely. “He appeared to his sons-in-law to be jesting.” (Genesis 19:14)

The biblical writer does not pause to explain that cryptic comment, so we are left to analyze it on our own. To me, it means only one thing: Lot was such a joker that when he tried to get serious, no one believed him.

Somewhere I read of a clown who ran onto the stage of a playhouse to announce that the theater was on fire. The audience thought it was part of the act and roared with laughter. But he was serious. Dead serious.

As a young preacher, if I thought of a funny remark that fit the point I was making in the sermon, I would tell it. I cannot begin to remember the times when friends would approach me after a service to lovingly rebuke that trait. “You were at such a great place in the message…and then you spoiled it by making the joke.”

What was going on there? Who knows. Insecurity, lack of discipline, fear. Something. It took a long time of prayer and work to get over that, to get to the point where I could say ‘no’ to the impulse to add a humorous remark to the most serious point.

I’ll end this by emphasizing that I’m all for humor in a sermon. The best kind, of course, is the natural kind that arises spontaneously without planning. But the other kind is fine, too. The pastor heard a good story that week which he thought the congregation would enjoy.

At a men’s breakfast at our church early one Sunday, a Gideon speaker began his message with a funny story. As I recall, it did not pretend to illustrate anything; it was just a great story. Two hours later, I was preaching in a friend’s church and when I rose to the pulpit, I said, “Would it be all right if I told you a great story I heard this morning?” They nodded their heads, I told it, they enjoyed it, and then I went into the sermon. Anything wrong with that? Not a thing. In fact, the mirth bonded us together just a little.

“Like apples of gold in settings of silver,

is a word spoken in right circumstances.” (Proverbs 25:11)

I’m not sure what the point of golden apples laying on beds of silver is all about, but the “word spoken in right circumstances” surely applies to a great joke or funny line. When well-chosen and rightly-timed, there’s nothing better. Otherwise, skip it altogether.